HP: The Third Child of Prophecy

Chapter 141: Talking on Paper

Time: 6:45 PM, Ravenclaw Dormitory.

"Wow!" Ron exclaimed as the package opened and the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bed. Anthony and the others nearby also let out whistles and cheers of admiration.

As the owner of the broom, Alexander Smith could only tiptoe, trying to get a clearer view of what had arrived.

But Ron was too tall. Alexander had to clear his throat loudly to remind everyone who the broomstick actually belonged to.

Ron, however, continued to run his hands along the broom's sleek handle, trembling slightly as though he were a groom seeing his bride for the first time on their wedding night. His soft, reverent moans made Alexander glance away uncomfortably, as did Roger Davies, who couldn't help but show a look of disdain while speaking quietly with Hermione.

Fortunately, most of the dormitory residents were still acting normal. Anthony Goldstein, who had been quietly eating dry biscuits he brought himself, was the first to notice Alexander's discomfort. He exchanged a look with Neville and together they gently ushered Ron aside.

Only then did Alexander finally lay eyes on the object he'd been waiting a week for.

It was nothing less than a masterpiece.

The broomstick's lines were elegant, its polish gleaming in the torchlight. The handle was made of rich mahogany, and the tail was formed from carefully selected and perfectly trimmed twigs. The words Halok 2000 were etched in gold on the broom's handle.

"Hey! What are you all doing? It's almost 6:50—we should be heading out!" Ron called out, still unaware of how out-of-place his behavior had been. Since arriving at Hogwarts, his new surroundings and status seemed to have dulled his sense of tact.

But he was right about the time.

As seven o'clock drew near, Alexander and the others left the castle, making their way toward the Quidditch pitch in the deepening twilight. Ryan and Hermione followed a short distance behind. Alexander tried to signal Ryan again, hoping to keep him included, but the other boys—especially those obsessed with Quidditch—crowded around Alexander in excitement and led the way.

Soon they reached the stadium.

High stands encircled the pitch, each filled with tiered seating for spectators. Three golden goalposts stood at each end of the field, each topped with enormous rings.

They reminded Ryan of the bubble rings he had played with as a child, blowing soapy bubbles in the sunlight. These, however, were massive—each at least fifty feet high.

To everyone's surprise, Roger Davies wasn't there yet, nor were any of the other Ravenclaw team members.

Spurred on by Anthony's praise and Ron's loud encouragement, Alexander mounted his broom and took off with practiced ease. He soared into the air like a dancer of the skies, darting between the tall goal hoops, looping and diving in graceful arcs. His friends on the ground shouted and clapped.

Ryan and Hermione took seats near the back of the stands, pulling out books to read together.

"Hey, who are you?" came a voice from behind.

Roger Davies had arrived, a large wooden crate tucked under his arm.

"I'm Ron Weasley. You were talking to me next to Harry before," Ron replied, puzzled by the question. He couldn't imagine someone at Hogwarts not knowing who he was. But before he could say more, Roger cut him off.

"Oh, right! Rita Skeeter's article—'Ronnie Weasley,' wasn't it? You're not actually dating him, are you?" Roger teased. "You must be Draco Malfoy in disguise—look at those concerned eyes!"

Ron stood confused, not knowing how to respond. Roger turned to Anthony and pointed.

"You're not Malfoy, are you?"

"Anthony Goldstein," Anthony said with a flat tone. "Ravenclaw. And distant relative of Tina Goldstein—Newt Scamander's partner."

Roger raised his eyebrows, inspecting Anthony's face as if trying to memorize it.

"Alright, you're fine. Welcome," he said, then looked over the rest of the group, mentally checking off who he recognized. Michael Corner and Terry Boot—he remembered them by their distinct skin tones. Neville Longbottom, he knew. He was about to continue his inspection when Alexander landed nearby.

"Hey, Davies," Alexander greeted.

"Ah! Almost forgot about you, Alexander," Roger said with a grin. He placed the crate down and clapped Alexander on the shoulder so hard that he nearly toppled.

"You flew beautifully just now. As expected of someone Professor Hooch and I both had our eye on. We'll teach you the team's tactics tonight. Practice is three times a week."

Then he turned to the rest of Alexander's friends.

"Alright, the rest of you—thanks for the support, but head back to the stands. We've got training to do."

Ron muttered something under his breath, clearly annoyed, and followed Anthony and the others to the front of the stands.

Alexander frowned.

"Something wrong? Feeling nervous?" Roger asked.

"No—it just feels like everything's happening so fast."

"Well, of course! You're a natural Seeker, just like your father. You've got the instincts. Now, let me explain how we train."

Roger's tone shifted as he began outlining their schedule.

"Twice a week, we meet in empty classrooms to study opponent formations and discuss strategy. Then, every Friday at 7 PM, we have practical training—working on flight control and team tactics."

"But… shouldn't we train more often?" Alexander asked. He'd heard from Ron about how Charlie Weasley used to drill the Gryffindor team relentlessly.

Roger shook his head.

"Alexander, you've got to understand—we're Ravenclaws. Our strength isn't brute practice. It's intelligence. We train smart, not hard."

It was clear Roger didn't want to argue further. Alexander let the matter drop.

Ryan, listening from above, gave a subtle sigh.

"No wonder Ravenclaw's Quidditch record always lagged behind," he thought. "They might be brilliant—but they play the game on paper."

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(End of Chapter 141)

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